True North
by Pyromaniac paper doll
Summary: <html><head></head>Slade Wilson has been defeated, but Oliver's family, home, city, business, and team have all suffered heavy damages. This is a story of rebuilding in the aftermath.</html>
1. Prologue

Summary: Slade Wilson has been defeated, but Oliver's family, home, city, business, and team have all suffered heavy damages. A story of rebuilding in the aftermath.

I do not own any aspect of Arrow; I'm just respectfully borrowing the characters for fun (but no profit).

Caveat lector: I have no beta, this thing is going to end up long as hell, and pretty much every subsequent chapter is going to be completely A/U in two short days. Proceed at your own risk. That said, if you do read it thank you very much and know that all constructive criticism is welcome and greatly, greatly appreciated.

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><p><strong>True North<strong>

_If Oliver was the Arrow, then Diggle was his compass, and Felicity…Felicity was True North._

_Prologue_

It wasn't until they had flown back to Hong Kong, boarded the ARGUS transport jet home, and were several hours over a night-dark ocean that Oliver actually began to think about the events of the past few days. It was only then that the truly heroic amounts of adrenaline still coursing through his veins ebbed enough to allow him to shift from fight-or-flight and focus on anything beyond the immediate moment since they'd left Verdant to face Slade's army. Once Slade's soldiers had begun their unrelenting assault on Starling City, there had been no opportunity to stop or rest, just a constant scramble to stay ahead of the wave after wave of masked men. They'd had no capacity to plan for a future beyond sunrise, when Amanda Wallar promised to turn Starling City into a smoldering crater. Most of time, he hadn't been able to think as far as sunrise, just surviving the current fight, the current moment.

Now in the quiet and relative safety of the ARGUS plan, when Oliver tried to organize those hours, into a linear narrative, he found he couldn't. Moments stood out, frozen in time like over-exposed photographs: waking up to Laurel in the lair; his heart stopping at the sight of Digg and Felicity, still and unresponsive in the crashed van; the feel of Felicity hugging him, frightened, hurt, and trembling after _commanding_ him to keep fighting; Sebastian Blood's chilling, delusional vow to be the mayor Starling deserved; Roy standing and confused, but wholly himself again in the clock tower; Nyssa breaking Isabel's neck in front of the boardroom conference table; Felicity telling him to let Slade out-think him; low light glinting off Slade's katana and her tears; the soft, horrible hiss of static over the com as he waited for Amanda to waive off her drone; staring at a sedated, restrained Slade in an ARGUS cargo jet, looking for the barest twitch, a syringe of Tibetan pit viper venom clutched in his hand. The rest of his memories were fragmented; a flickering, disjointed, strobe-lit jumble movement and battle, sound and heat, advance and retreat.

It didn't surprise Oliver that he couldn't seem to put the past few days into sequential order. It was disconcerting, certainly, but he'd experienced it before. His understanding of what had happened his first few weeks on the island was mostly cobbled together later, the gaps between the brief moments of horrific clarity sewn up with inference, embroidered with supporting details provided in by Yao Fe, Fyers, and Slade. At least this time, he had people he trusts to fill in the gaps.

And there's something else, he realizes. While he can't make the past 72 hours into a coherent narrative, unlike his early days on the island, this time there is a single, slender thread winding through the chaos and unifying the discordant mess of sense impressions and images: Felicity's voice. In every impression, she was with him, either standing beside him or on a com in his ear – guiding him though battle, reminding him of his purpose and his path when he wavered, encouraging him to keep his vow, assuring him there was another way and he would find it when everyone else said killing Slade was the only solution, steadying him as surely as if she had reached out a hand when he faltered.

He turned to where he knew she was sitting, a few rows behind him, across the aisle from John. She was slumped against the window, eyes closed, but he could tell from tension in her jaw and her erratic respiration that she wasn't asleep. She must be utterly exhausted, but, like the rest of them was probably too keyed up on adrenaline to actually shut her mind off and sleep. A twitch of a smile curved his lips; Oliver privately suspected the inside of Felicity's head was far brighter, shinier, and faster than the real world and consequently harder to shut off. Still, experience told him she'll probably crash in another hour or two, her body simply giving out.

The smile faded as he caught himself openly staring. He glanced furtively around, to see if he'd been detected. Digg's face was turned away as he dozed, head resting on top of Lyla's. A smattering of ARGUS agents were seated ahead of them, closer to the cockpit, barely visible with the rows of chairs between them, and all seemingly occupied with other things. Assured he was unobserved, Oliver turned back to his partner, deliberately this time, and savored this rare, quiet moment where he could simply watch her and let her presence prove, once again, that she had escaped Slade safe and sound and whole.

Peace, however, was always short-lived for Oliver Queen. The plane, the first safe-haven they'd known in days, was carrying them back to face the aftermath of what Slade's revenge had wrought and the hard, dirty work of repairing and rebuilding. Oliver knew better than most that some things could never be undone; that some wounds were fatal and some choices irrevocable, a thought that settled especially heavily on him when paired with Felicity.

Things between them had slowly been shifting over the past year. He had felt it even as he staunchly resisted examining it. If he didn't acknowledge the change, there felt like there was still the chance to go back. Though he had started this quest on alone, he wasn't sure he knew how to be the Arrow without Diggle and Felicity anymore, and he was leery of anything that could disturb their dynamic. His declaration in the mansion, even made solely for Slade's benefit, not only disturbed the dynamic, it closed off any hope of return. It was too early yet to say how much he had altered things or what the results would be, but he was sure they could never return to the relationship they'd had in the early days. It made him profoundly uneasy.

As though she could sense his change in mood, Felicity shifted in her seat, grimacing as she disturbed an injury. Oliver found himself rising automatically before he even recognized what he was doing. He wanted to go over and sit in the seat next to her, to get a better look at that ugly gash on her temple, maybe even lend his shoulder so she could rest…. But he stayed firmly put. He didn't trust himself to be that close to her and he couldn't risk shaking their bond even further when things felt so fragile between them. Instead, he allowed a few more minutes to fortify himself. And then he turned away and closed his eyes to try to, if not sleep, at least rest. He didn't look in her direction again until they landed in Sterling City.


	2. Chapter 1

On to Chapter one, which now bears very little resemblance to the actual events of Season 3 (curse my inability to get this finished before the premier). I still don't own anything even remotely associated with Arrow and am only taking the characters out for fun, not profit.

To anyone still reading, thanks and enjoy. Constructive reviews are always cherished.

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><p><em><span>Chapter 1<span>_

The sun was shining brightly on Starling City when they stepped, blinking, off the plane. It was still too early in the spring to be warm, but after leaving the city in darkness and flames, just coming back to daylight was welcome.

As soon as her feet touched the tarmac, Felicity powered up her phone in one hand and her tablet in the other. "Ah, precious, precious 4G," she sighed.

"Suffering a little withdrawal Felicity?" Diggle teased. It seemed like it had been a long time since he'd done that, and, like the sunshine it felt hopeful, if a little unfamiliar.

"Don't make fun Mister," she admonished, holding her phone above her head, searching for optimal signal, "It's not like I can expense my insane international data fees to the CEO anymore. And, as a wise man once said, Minefield Island isn't exactly a WiFi hot spot." He still chuckled when her phone pinged with its first data packet and she let out an involuntary sigh of satisfaction.

"So what now Oliver?" Digg turned towards the other man, giving Felicity a minute alone with her tech. "I know everyone's pretty banged up but we should –"

Her gasp cut him off before he could finish his though and sent him wheeling back toward Felicity, hand already reaching for his weapon. "We need to go to the hospital," Felicity was charging back to them, her phone thrust out before her.

Oliver plucked the device from her hand to read the text message on the screen, "It's Detective Lance," she explained to Digg, "he's in intensive care."

The drive to the hospital, in a commandeered ARGUS car, was conducted in tense silence. Digg navigated them gingerly around broken pavement and stunned pedestrians, the streets still littered with debris and the burnt out shells of other vehicles while Felicity tried to get into Lance's medical records and Oliver tried to contact first Laurel, then Sara. But the hospital's electronic medical records system had apparently been knocked offline in the attack or overwhelmed by the flood of casualties and neither Laurel nor Sara were answering their phones, leaving with no information on Lance's condition beyond an hours-old text message begging Oliver to come as quickly as he could.

The hospital hummed with activity when they finally arrived. The initial deluge of patients and chaos of triage was obviously over, but the building was still filled past capacity with people injured in the attacks. Oliver, Diggle and Felicity walk past the empty visitor's desk without pausing - the staff was too busy tending the wounded to bother enforcing visiting hours - and made their way directly to the ICU without a second look from the harried nurses. Luck was with them on the ward as it hadn't been on the road. They spotted Laurel standing outside one of the rooms, hunched over her cell phone almost immediately after coming onto the floor.

"Ollie!" she cried as she saw him, pulling him into a tight hug as soon as they drew near, exhaustion and worry clear on her face. "I've been trying to reach you for almost a day! I'm so glad you're okay. Where were you?"

Oliver glanced over Laurel's shoulder, assuring himself that no one was in earshot before murmuring, "Transporting Slade to somewhere he won't be a danger to anyone."

Laurel's lips thinned, but she didn't press for any further information.

Stepping back a little but not releasing her, he asked, "How's your dad?"

"Better," her voice wavered for just moment, but she quickly marshaled her emotions, "Better," she repeated, her voice steady this time. "He was in surgery for four hours and he lost a lot of blood. Thankfully he woke up this morning. He's not happy, but he seems like himself at least. His doctor thinks he'll make a full recovery."

It was like all three of them let out a breath at the same moment.

"I'm glad to hear it," Oliver said with genuine relief, giving her arm a quick squeeze as he did.

"Do you think he'd be up for a quick visit?" Felicity piped up from behind him.

Laurel looked up sharply, as if she had just noticed Felicity and Diggle for the first time and didn't welcome the intrusion.

"Or we could come back later," she backpedaled at Laurel's narrowed expression, "when he's feeling better. Or I could just send a Get Well Soon card to the precinct…."

"I promise we'll be quick," Oliver cajoled, stroking her arms lightly, "We owe your dad a lot. The least we can do is check in."

"Of course," Laurel relaxed, giving Oliver a wan smile. "Sorry, it's be a long couple of days…." She took Oliver's hand leading him into the room, "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you." Felicity trailed behind them while Digg posted up outside the door, scanning the hallway for threats.

Quinten Lance was dozing, propped up in bed, what looked like dozens of tubes and wires snaking around him. "Dad, look who's here!" Laurel announced with the over-bright, strained cheer of someone who still wasn't totally convinced her father was going to be okay.

"Queen," he said roughly, opening his eyes, "I though you and your sister got out of town before those psychos attacked?" his gaze tracked over the bruises on Oliver's face, "What the hell happened to you?" the faint, familiar disapproval helped animate his expression and made him look less still and sick.

"I didn't quite make it out," Oliver lied effortlessly, "some goon in a mask attacked me as I was trying to leave the city. He must have been on steroids – he threw me around like I weighed nothing. The next thing I remember was coming to." Many _portions_ of what he said were true, and Laurel, Felicity, and Oliver all offered up a quick prayer that Quinten wouldn't probe any deeper.

Mercifully, Lance appeared satisfied with Oliver's explanation. He nodded once before shooting the younger man a sardonic grin, "I know the feeling. It was one of those guys who put me in here."

"How are you feeling Detective?" Felicity peaked out from Oliver.

"Miss Smoak," the detective looked far more pleased to see her than Oliver, "I've been better, I'm surprised to see you here."

"Texts to Oliver's work phone are automatically forwarded to me," she provided by way of explanation, "I got Laurel's text about you being in the hospital too," Felicity stepped close to the bed, taking hold of the rail with both hands. "We came as soon as we could. I'm glad to see you're awake."

"You and me both," he shifted and let out a groan as his stitches pulled.

Laurel was at his side immediately, "Dad, do you need me to call the doctors?"

"Honey, I'm fine, just sore," Lance grumbled, shifting gingerly to find a comfortable position, before reaching out to squeeze her hand, "Don't hover."

Laurel's expression didn't change, "at least take your pain meds dad," she admonished, "the doctors said you need to stay ahead of the pain."

"And Oxycodone makes everything feels so friendly," Felicity added meditatively "…Would be an incredibly insensitive thing to say in a room full of people who have had addiction issues…" she continued with a look of dawning horror.

"We should let you get some rest," Oliver cut her off, before she could go farther, suppressing a smile at the familiar look of panicked gratitude, "We just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"It'll take more than some nutball in a goalie mask to get me off the force," the detective deadpanned. After a beat he added, "Hey, thanks for stopping by Oliver."

Oliver nodded. He gave Laurel's arm one final squeeze, "Let me know if you need anything," he murmured, before turning back for the door.

Felicity flashed Lance one final, quick smile and turned to follow Oliver.

"Miss Smoak," Felicity paused, turning back to him, "would you mind staying for a moment?"

Oliver didn't have to fake the look of surprise that crossed his face.

"Of course detective," she glanced over her shoulder at Oliver, "I'll catch up with you in a minute." Oliver hesitated a second more but kept his questions to himself as he walked out the door.

"I thought he wasn't the CEO anymore," Lance said, nodding to where Oliver had just exited.

"He's paid up through the end of the month," Felicity quipped, "Like I said, his messages are still being forwarded to me - the last week was not the time to compare wireless plans. I think he might have lost or broken his phone in all the…yahhhha" she curled her finger into claws, "last night. He called me when he came too to try and figure out what he'd missed and I let him know you were here."

He waved her and Laurel closer to the bed, leaving her account of how she had rejoined Oliver unquestioned. "How's our mutual friend," he asked lowly.

"Alive," Felicity confirmed, curling her fingers around the bed rail again, "Banged up, but he should be back to work soon. He says 'Thank You' for everything you did, by the way. And for trusting us."

"He's the one we should be thanking. There's no telling what those men would have done if he hadn't stopped them. What about Wilson?" "

"Somewhere he can't hurt anyone being watched by people who can handle him."

Lance sagged back against the pillow, "I'm not going to lie, that's a relief."

"How are you?" he asked with more than a touch of fatherly concern.

That surprised her. "Me?" she squeaked, "F-fine." She touched her head gingerly, "This, some bruises, and I am going to be sore tomorrow, but otherwise I'm fine."

"Laurel told me about what happened between you and Wilson…" Felicity's mouth went dry. Surely Laurel had left out the whole kill the woman Oliver loved bit. "Did _he_ send you in there? Was that part of some kind of plan?" From the lack of yelling, she decided Laurel had, in fact, kept that fact to herself.

Felicity swallowed, "He couldn't get close enough to Slade to give him the cure, so…"

Lance let out a low whistle, "I can't figure out if what you did was the bravest or stupidest thing I've ever heard of."

"Possibly both?" she suggested helpfully, but sobered at his granite expression. "We'd tried everything else. It was the only way to get close enough to him and," she glanced at Laurel, "save your daughter."

Lance studied her for another moment, and Felicity had a fleetingly wondered how any suspect resisted blurting out all of her crimes under his scrutiny. "Well, then thank you," he said finally, releasing her, "and if you see our friend, tell him I say thanks. And he deserves a punch in the face."

"Will do!" She reached out impulsively and squeezed his hand. "Get well soon, detective." With a final little wave, she walked out the door. And almost directly into Digg's chest.

Felicity knew immediately from his stormy expression that something was wrong. Her heart flew into her throat. After everything they had been though in the last few days….how many shoes were going to drop? "Digg, did something – "

John Diggle's voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of furry, "What did Lance mean when he said, Laurel told him about _you _and _Wilson_?"

"Uh oh….."

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><p>Author's Note: This show. This f%^king show.<p> 


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who left a review or decided to follow this story – I'm humbled and grateful. Please feel free to continue telling me what you like or what you think I'm screwing up. This chapter is a long one - I hope you enjoy it.

I still don't own Arrow.

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><p><em><span>Chapter 2<span>_

Digg had elected not to join Oliver and Felicity in checking on Detective Lance. Instead, he remained, standing at ease outside the door, like Oliver Queen's body guard should, which is where Oliver found him when he emerged from Lance's room, alone. His questioning glance was met with a mild shrug from before Oliver moved up the hall a little way to check his recently retrieved phone and probably text Thea. Figuring Oliver would probably appreciate a little space, Digg elected to remain outside of the detective's door and wait on Felicity.

The quiet hallway and echoing acoustics of the bare tile floors and walls meant he could hear Felicity and Lance's conversation with little difficulty. Years as a bodyguard had taught Diggle the fine art of letting other people's conversations wash over him, the words flowing away unheard unless and until something _important_ was said. And he did exactly that, until he hear the words, "Laurel told me what happened between _you and Wilson._" That phrase was the very definition of important.

He listened intently to the rest of their short conversation with growing alarm. He and Felicity and Oliver hadn't been in contact from the time he and Lyla split off to stop Waller until they'd all reunited at the airport. Once the extraction team brought Oliver, Felicity, and an unconscious Slade to the runway, they taken off for Lian Yu within the half-hour. Between cleaning up, tending wounds, and Oliver's obsessive need to stand sentry over Wilson with exotic snake venom, there hadn't been time to debrief. And since Wilson was captured, Oliver was beaten up but alive, and Felicity looked shaken but no worse than she had been when he'd left them, Digg assumed that comparing war stories could wait until after they'd come home and had a moment to catch their breath. Apparently he had been wrong. Because it sure as hell sounded like Felicity had ended up with Slade and Oliver had put her there. Surely, he must have misunderstood that.

The way Felicity blanched when he confronted her did nothing to assuage his concern. He took her elbow and marched her toward Oliver without a word. This was neither the time nor the place, and Diggle didn't trust himself to speak without yelling. If his suspicions were confirmed, he also didn't trust himself not to deliver that punch in the face Detective Lance seemed to think Oliver deserved either.

Oliver went still when he caught sight of them, immediately aware of the tension in Diggle's posture. "We are going to debrief," Digg ground out, never breaking stride. Oliver's eyes flicked to Felicity and Diggle caught a flash of frantic hand gestures in his peripheral vision before the other man fell obediently into step behind them. Diggle tucked Felicity closer to his side and ushered her out the door.

The ride to the secondary base was, again, conducted in silence. Diggle's anger hadn't diminished by the time they arrived, but at least he felt like he had regained some control over that anger. Felicity immediately settled into an old office chair, Oliver taking up position behind and to her left, leaning against a table. Digg stood in the middle of floor, equidistant from his partners and waited. Neither of them said a word.

His anger snapped at its bonds, when he looked at Felicity, sorely testing that control, so he focused on Oliver. "Oliver," he started, his voice deceptively even, "Do you remember the first time she came to the Foundry, when you asked her to join us?" The other man looked up at the ceiling then nodded, his lips in a tight line. "Do you remember what you said?"

"That we could protect her," Oliver answered quietly, his expression carefully composed.

Digg nodded tightly. "So do you want to explain to me," he demanded, voice rising as his control slipped again, "how she ended up with Laurel and Slade Wilson? And how, under any definition of the word, that qualifies as _protecting_ her?"

"Diggle, it was the only way…."

Diggle cut him off, "I don't believe that for a second."

Oliver's fingers flexed, evidence of his own flaring temper, "Do you want to know what happened or not?"

Digg crossed his arms over his chest, and waited. He supposed he should know exactly what he would be punching Oliver Queen over.

Oliver took a breath, "After you left, we went to Queen Consolidated. Slade, Isabel, and some of his men were there, just like Nyssa said. We were able to neutralize his men and get close enough that I had a clear shot at Slade. I had _three_ clear shots at Slade and he batted my arrows away like they were flies before going out of a 32nd floor window. " Even now, Oliver's frustration was palpable. "After the fight, Felicity-"

"Who had been waiting safely in the car up until that point," she piped up, earning a quelling look from both men.

Oliver cleared his throat, "_Felicity_ brought Detective Lance up to see the Arrow. Slade had taken Laurel."

Even in the depths of his very righteous anger, that made Diggle suck in a breath.

"He wanted to kill the woman I loved," Oliver confirmed, taking a steadying breath of his own, shoulders sagging as though the weight of world had come down upon them. "We had no idea where he was, how to find him, what his next move was, or how to stop him. You know better than anyone that he had out-thought us at every turn." Oliver fell silent for a long moment, "It was actually Felicity's suggestion – that we make him out-think us. I realized Slade would never let me get close enough to him, but that he was so focused on me, on destroying everything that was precious to me, that if he thought that there was something he'd missed, he'd go after it without any questions."

Diggle did not like where this was going, but allowed Oliver to continue.

"The day my mother was killed, I found cameras in the mansion. I realized Slade was watching. So I took Felicity there and we convinced Slade he had taken the wrong woman. That Laurel wasn't the woman I loved, Felicity was. I gave her the cure and left her there while I went to fight his soldiers in the tunnel. He took Felicity, just like I thought he would, and he contacted me with his location so I could watch him take his revenge."

Digg felt sick. He had been furious with Oliver because he assumed that he had failed to keep her safe, that she had fallen into Slade's hands because of some scheme gone wrong. He never thought that Oliver would have hand-delivered her to Slade Wilson.

"He never saw her coming," there was a note of pride in Oliver's voice. "He was so fixated on me that he didn't even search her; he wasn't wearing all of his protective armor. Felicity jabbed a syringe of cure into his neck and, once that was done, Sara got her and Laurel out of there and I was finally able to beat him." Oliver's posture relaxed. "Soon after that, the extraction team picked us up, and we met you at the airport."

Digg said nothing. An ominous silence filled the room, squeezing out the air while Digg took in what Oliver had said.

Slowly, he turned to Felicity, but she wasn't meeting his eye. "Is that true?" he asked quietly.

"Ah," she hesitated, "Y-yes. That's pretty much it," she looked up at him for a moment, before her gaze skittered away again.

That heavy silence grew, weighing even more oppressively upon them all. Digg knew that she wasn't telling him something…She was protecting Oliver, like she always did. Like they both always did. But for what? What could be worse than what he had already confessed to? He tried to catch her eye, to divine it from her face but she wasn't looking at him. And she wasn't looking at Oliver…. And Digg suddenly suspected how it could be worse.

"Did he tell you what he planned to do?" the words were soft, but she could hear the undercurrent of rage in Digg's voice.

"Well….ahhh…." Felicity had known Oliver was up to _something_. As soon as she'd said that he needed to make Slade out-think him, she'd seen the epiphany flash across his face before he grabbed her hand, turned on his heel and strode for the elevators with a purpose she hadn't seen in weeks. He'd rushed her out of the lobby, past milling assassins and a confused-looking Detective Lance and onto the back of his bike. She'd been dying to ask him what he'd figured out, but there had been no way to talk above the rush of wind as he threaded them precariously though streets clogged with ruined cars and panicked citizens. So she knew he had _a_ plan, she just didn't know what it was precisely. At the time, it hadn't even bothered her, all she wanted to know was how she could help.

"There wasn't time to fill me in on all of the details," Felicity started, "but…"

"DON'T!" she jumped, Digg's voice ringing off the stained cement walls, "Don't you defend him Felicity." He rounded on Oliver, "You served her up as bait to a madman and you didn't even prepare her?"

Oliver looked like a broken man, "We had to sell it," he said quietly, eyes fixed on some distant spot on the ceiling.

"_How_ did you sell it?" Digg gritted out, stalking another step closer to Oliver.

"I told her she had to stay at the house until it was over, that I needed her safe and that I'd come for her when it was all over. I said that when Slade took Laurel, he took the wrong woman. I said –" Diggle's fist collided with Oliver's jaw with brutal force, knocking the rest of the words away and sending him sprawling to the ground. Felicity jumped up, but Digg was already stomping up the stairs and out the door, the clang of metal echoing around them as he slammed the heavy door shut behind him.

She took a step toward Oliver, but he waved her away, staggering to his feet, holding his jaw. He wouldn't look at her as he limped away to the dark corner where he presumably kept his medical supplies in this place. Felicity sighed, finding herself alone in the dank, barren space that would likely become their new home base.

Back in her carefree youth, she occasionally fantasized about what it would be like to have two handsome, muscle-bound men fighting over her. It did not look like this. "Thanks for ruining the dream guys…" she muttered to no one. She wished they were back in the Foundry – at least there she would have her computers to occupy her until Digg calmed down and Oliver finished his standard course of self-flagellation. But as that option was unavailable…. She glanced again at the dark corner Oliver had retreated to, silently debating before she turned, footsteps ringing on the old metal stairs – those were definitely being upgraded as soon as possible. And they were all getting tetanus shots.

Luckily, Digg hadn't gone far. Felicity found him leaning on the metal railing just outside the entrance, looking out over the broken pavement. "You know," she said, taking up her own position at the railing next to him, her posture mirroring his, "Oliver's face is one of the perks of this job and since it looks like I'm about to take a big pay cut, those intangible benefits are going to be a lot more important."

Digg turned to look at her, but he didn't smile. He did let out a breath, some of the tension slipping out on that noisy exhalation and wrapped a protective, fraternal arm around her shoulders. Felicity settled contentedly against his warm side and they watched the empty lot, this silence comfortable and companionable.

"It was a good plan," she finally broke the silence, "and it really was our only chance."

She could feel the expand and contract of his ribs as he sighed. "There must have been some other way besides putting a big, red, "woman Oliver loves" target on your back and dangling you in front of Slade Wilson…" This time, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice where there hadn't been before.

Felicity shook her head, "There really wasn't. Well," she amended, "If we assume a multi-verse, it is theoretically possible that in some alternate reality, there may have been some other way to neutralize Slade without hurting anyone else or bombing Starling City into a smoldering crater, but I still don't know what it could be. Can you think of any other way?"

"No," he finally admitted, "it doesn't mean I have to like the idea of you in that much danger," she felt the arm around her shoulder tighten, "And it doesn't make it okay for Oliver to send you in there blind."

Digg's concern warmed her as much as his arm. "I knew he had a plan, you know. As soon as I said we had to make Slade out-think him, I saw it in his face. The only way it could have been more obvious is if an actual cartoon light bulb had illuminated above his head. He didn't keep the details from me for any malicious purpose, there just wasn't time. The city was burning, Laurel had been taken...we were on our way to the mansion on a motorcycle approximately 30 seconds after the bulb went off…. It's not like Slade and his minions would have given us a quick time-out to finalize the plan and synchronize our Swatches."

"It was still risky," Digg said, "you might have blown the whole thing inadvertently."

A wry smile touched Felicity's lips. "I think I almost did," she admitted. "I had no idea what we could possibly be doing at his house and I kept demanding he tell me what was going on. And then when he told me I was supposed to stay there and that he'd be back for me when it was all over because he needed me safe. I thought he'd lost his damn mind."

She was pressed too close to him to see his smile, but she heard when he replied, "I don't imagine that went over well."

She shook her head against his shoulder. There had been an initial flash of panic when Oliver had told her to stay. Why wasn't he telling her the plan? Why didn't he want her in on it? After all of they'd been though, didn't he trust her? But it had quickly solidified into a steely resolve. This was their fight and she'd be _damned_ if she was going to be left out of it because Oliver was having an attack of…something…at the worst possible moment. "If he hasn't said he loved me, I probably would have walked out and gotten on that death-mobile - motorcycles are scary by the way, I don't know why anyone rides them - and refused to get off until he took me with him." Saying the words out loud was like a sudden blow to the chest – it surprised Felicity how much it hurt.

Digg froze. "He told you he loved you?" his quiet voice was simultaneously comforting and humiliating.

"At first he just said that Slade had taken the wrong woman, but I wasn't sure what he was saying exactly. I mean I got the 'Laurel-isn't-the-one-I-love' message, but I didn't know if he meant that he was in love with Sara now, or someone else, or if he was just enjoying being single and sleeping with women of questionable moral and mental status. I didn't think he was talking about me – I mean, Oliver and me, it's -," Felicity was surprised to hear her voice quaver as her throat tightened up, "anyway, subtle wasn't working on me, so he spelled it out for the cameras. Normally Oliver can't lie to save his life," she tried to sound light, but the tightness in her throat was squeezing off her air, and a quick, hot, humiliating tear slid down her cheek, "but he really sold it. For a split second, I even believed him. It wasn't until he palmed the syringe to me that I figured it all out. I mean, for a certified genius, I was really slow on the uptake…" Her voice broke and Digg shifted, pulling her into his chest. Some portion of Felicity's brain had the good sense to be mortified by this, crying over Oliver because he didn't like-like her to _Diggle_ of all people. This wasn't going to make their partnership awkward _at all_. But she had been through so much in the past 3 days and it just felt so good to feel safe again and let it all out. So she buried her face against his hard muscles that felt like they could beat anything and cried.

Digg didn't try to offer any words of comfort as Felicity fell apart, he just rested his chin in her hair, held her, and tried to process what she had just said. Oliver had told her he loved her. She thought it was an act for Slade's benefit. Oliver had clearly not disabused her of that notion. He didn't even know where to begin with that. So instead he reflected on what she had done, on how amazingly brave she had been, and how grateful and lucky he was that she was safe and here for him to comfort after the tremendous risk she had undertaken for all of them. If anyone deserved a breakdown, it was Felicity.

Soon enough, the tears stopped flowing and Felicity's breath began to return to a normal rhythm. Sheepishly she pushed back, ducking her head. John didn't try to stop her, but did replace his arm around her shoulder and was pleased when Felicity, though not meeting his eye, settled comfortably back against his side. "Is there any way we can pretend that didn't just happen?" she sniffed, pushing up her glasses to wipe her eyes, "and that I didn't just cry all over you because of a mortifying, unrequited crush on Oliver Queen that should NEVER, EVER be acknowledge."

Digg couldn't help but grin, even as his heart broke for her just a little. He wanted to tell her that her feelings for Oliver weren't at all mortifying, or, he suspected, as unrequited as she believed. But now wasn't the time or place for that conversation. So instead he said, "Forget what? We've been standing here chatting about getting Slade the entire time we've been up here."

"You are a true gentleman John Diggle, and a good friend." the light that he associated with Felicity was returning to her voice. "I'm fine Digg," she assured him, "I'm fine and Slade's in an underground bunker back on that horrible island. And if I ever had any desire to go out and prove my badass bonafides, this experience has completely killed it. I am happy to leave the feats of heroism to you and Oliver and sit safely in the Arrow cave with my computers from here on out." She vowed. "So do you think you can forgive Oliver now?"

Digg sighed noisily, "Only because I can't think of any other option. But," he stipulated, "I'm holding you to that staying in the Arrow cave thing, and we're stepping up your self-defense training as soon as we get the base back up and running. And," he added as an afterthought, "I'm never going to like the fact that you were in so much danger."

"Deal," Felicity squirmed sideways, "And if it's any consolation, I didn't like Slade Wilson holding a sword to my throat and ranting at Oliver about all the ways he was going to kill me either."

Digg sucked in a breath.

"He didn't hurt me," Felicity rushed to add, "He threatened me a lot and I've never, ever been so scared in my life…." She paused uncertainly, "But…I knew Oliver was coming for me. I'm not stupid, I knew that I might not…" she swallowed, her voice growing thick again, "but I trusted that Oliver would do _everything_ he could to get me out of there safely. Maybe I'm not the woman he loves, but we're a team and I know that means as much to you guys as it does to me." she finished with quiet conviction.

Diggle was silent so long, Felicity began to worry that what she'd just said was as lame and delusionally love-sick sounding as she feared.

"It does," he said finally, giving her one last squeeze. "It does."

Shortly after, they both descended back into the new base. Oliver stood at the bottom of the stairs, like a convicted man awaiting sentencing. Felicity shot him an encouraging smile then went off to her chair, pulling out her phone as she did, giving them some space.

Diggle sighed, "I really, really don't like it Oliver," he began gravely, "Slade could have just as easily decided to kill her on the spot and left her body for you on the steps of your childhood home rather than take her so he could invite you to her execution."

A look of pain that hadn't been there when John's fist connected with his jaw flashed over Oliver's face, his eyes flicking over to the blonde seated a few feet away from him as though he was reassuring himself she was still there. "Don't you think I know that Diggle," he returned hotly, struggling to keep his voice low, "Slade could have killed her a hundred different ways and I imagined every one when I left her. Had there been any other way…I would have gladly died to keep him from getting within a hundred feet of her…but even if I had handed myself over, Slade wasn't ever going to stop."

"I know," Diggle said finally, letting the younger man off the hook. "I hate that it was the only option, but I can see that it was."

Oliver swallowed, some of the tension going out of his posture. "I promise you Diggle, had she even _hinted_ that she didn't want to do it, I would have gotten her out of there."

A faint smile tugged at John's mouth. "I don't doubt that. And I don't doubt our girl didn't hesitate for a second."

"She is remarkable," Oliver conceded.

"I'm not apologizing for the punch to the face though," Diggle warned, holding out his hand, "You deserved it."

Oliver clasped his proffered palm without hesitation, "Fair enough."

Noting that her partners had, at least for now, appeared to come a resolution, Felicity set down her phone and returned to where the two men were standing in the middle of the sparsely-furnished space. Enough with Slade and the past, it was time to move forward.

"Well, we have a lot to do!" Felicity wasted no time, ticking items off on her fingers, "We have to set up a new Arrow Cave - "

"Don't call it that," Oliver interjected.

"We have to get your company back," she continued on without missing a beat, "We may have to find jobs while we wait to get your company back. You should probably check in on Thea. Oliver needs to find a place to live. The Arrow is probably going to be very in demand because the police force is a little short-handed…." She considered for a moment, "And we need to organize a baby shower for Digg."

The two men exchanged looks, but Felicity was on a roll, "Unless you're ARGUS people are throwing you one, but I can't really picture Amanda Waller showing up with a onesie bouquet. Though if you do have an ARGUS shower, could you _please_ try to get me an invite? I'd really like to be near people who are near X15 solid-state hard drives."

"What is a onesie bouquet?" Digg asked hesitantly, unsure he really wanted the answer.

"_That's_ what you took from this conversation," Oliver raised an incredulous brow.

"Oh, it's this really cute baby shower thing where you roll up a bunch of different-colored onesies or bibs to make them look like flowers and then you put them in a basket with greenery so it looks like a little bouquet," Felicity mimed the entire construction process as she explained. "But, you know, it doesn't die in a week and is useful for new parents."

Digg cast a faintly panicked look at Oliver again, but the other man just shrugged.

"Oh John," Felicity said, laying a comforting hand on his arm, "we need to get you some baby books. And Pinterest!"

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><p><strong>AN:** NOOOOOOO! Sara; NOOOOO! Add that to, "I don't want to die down here," and the Arrow writing staff and cast continue to stomp on my heart and drive me to drink. This show. This F&$king show.


	4. Chapter 3

Hello! Sorry about the long delay between updates, but this chapter and the next ended up being absolute beasts for some reason. I hope you enjoy what I finally managed to wrestle onto the page. As always, thanks for reading and please feel free to tell me what you liked or what I'm screwing up in the review.

If only I owned Arrow, but alas...

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><p><em><span>Chapter 3<span>_

Felicity slumped against the door of her apartment, sagging against the cool wood as she examined her space. Coming back home again felt slightly surreal, as though she were returning after been gone for months rather than a mere 72 hours. She caught herself studying her living room as though it might be somehow unfamiliar. It was a ridiculous thought, and she admonished herself for it, but she still looked around for another moment before she pushed wearily off the door and walked cautiously into her home.

Her caution was even more ridiculous considering that both Oliver and Diggle had already searched her apartment top to bottom. Her neighborhood had made it through Slade's attack and the looting that followed relatively unscathed; there had been no sign of anything amiss when they pulled up to her door. Still, neither man would allow her to enter until they had both personally verified her apartment was secure. The only danger they found were the smells emanating from her refrigerator – apparently the power had been out for a good stretch while they had been gone.

Felicity was immensely grateful for that her home had remained inviolate. Had there been even the slightest hint that Slade or his men had been here, she didn't think she would have been able to walk through that front door. While Walter had sounded genuinely happy to open his home to Oliver, but she doubted he'd be willing to take on more guests, not to mention the uncomfortable questions that would surely be raised, or at least pointedly implied in an arch, unspoken British fashion. And though Oliver and Diggle would possibly be the greatest friends in the history of moving – both possessed giant muscles and owed her big – Felicity already felt like she had lost a home when they'd walked into the ransacked base. She wasn't sure she would be able to bear it if she lost her actual home as well.

Felicity shook her head as though she could shake the troubling thoughts away and made her way to the kitchen. She didn't want to think about Slade and all the havoc he had wrought, real or potential any longer. All she wanted to do was eat something, take a long, hot shower, and collapse into her own bed for the first time in three days.

As her fridge had been declared a disaster site, her dinner options were limited to the contents of her meager pantry. Hunting though her cabinets, and vowing to do better on stocking staple non-perishables from now on, she eventually came up with her can of emergency soup – Campbell's Chicken and Stars, to be opened for nothing less than actual flu or near-apocalypse – and a box of crackers that were only slightly stale. It was a rather humble dinner, but it suited both her limited appetite and the amount of effort she was prepared to expend on food preparation. She dumped the can in a clean bowl, shoved it in the microwave, and had a moment of silence in honor of the almost-new pint of ice cream that she'd bought the day before Moira Queen had been killed.

Munching crackers over her sink, she eyed her television speculatively while she waited for her soup to heat. After what had seemed like three days of constant noise, she found her quiet apartment unsettling. Briefly, she considered turning the TV on and searching for something dumb and mindless to alleviate the now-unfamiliar silence and the tension that still settled heavily in her stomach and clenched her muscles into tight knots. As the microwave beeped, she decided against it. After watching the city splinter around her for the second time, she simply wasn't prepared for the possibility of seeing it again on the local news. Felicity sat at her kitchen table, ate her soup, and reminded herself that sounds of battle that seemed to echo just outside of her hearing were only in her head. By the time she finished, she was starting to get used to the quiet again.

She left her dishes at the table, too tired and too sore to even bother bring them to the sink. Her already aching muscles had stiffened further as she sat, and by the time she finished eating, her limbs felt clumsy and leaden and it hurt to breathe. She shuffled to her bathroom by sheer force of will and cranked the water in her shower up as hot as she could stand. Felicity stood under the spray until the sting from the cut on her head no longer surprised her and the water went tepid, the long, hot soak and the ibuprofen she downed with dinner finally granting her some relief. It eased the pain and fatigue just enough for her to change into her warmest, ugliest pjs and brush her teeth, but no more.

When she finally crawled into bed and turned off the lights, the exhaustion weighted so heavily she felt like she sunk an extra inch into the mattress. But, perversely, sleep refused to come. Felicity groaned; she'd done what she could to try and avoid this exact scenario but, really, how did one unwind after trying to avert a mass-killing? Though this was now the second time she'd found herself lying awake in this bed after helping to prevent the _complete_ destruction of Starling City, she was no closer to the answer than when she'd huddled under her covers a year ago, listening to the sounds of distant sirens in the Glades. Though there was a slight difference this time. Last year, when she closed her eyes, she saw the foundry shaking and falling around her. This year, all she saw was Oliver's face searching hers in the gloom of his unlit foyer.

Felicity didn't want to think about what had happened in the entry of his shuttered, empty home. She liked the tidy narrative she'd almost successfully told John – Oliver has a cunning plan but no time to fill her in on the details, a comic misunderstanding ensues but is quickly corrected, bad guy is defeated and all's well that ends well. It was straightforward and neat as a sitcom plot-line – resolved in one episode and with everything back to normal for our intrepid heroes by next week's theme-song. She was most emphatically not interested in subjecting it to any type of scrutiny. Instead, she tried counting sheep. She tried figuring out the code script for a sheep graphic in BASIC, then C++. She made a mental grocery list of items to replace the contents of her fridge. She plotted the logistics of sealing up the whole fridge and getting a new one. But no matter what she tried, her traitorous mind refused to rest, doggedly drifting back to the Queen mansion. Until, finally, around 2:15 in the morning, she was too tired to fight any more and simply let her mind drift back, replaying the memories of that night.

It felt like they had been fighting for days already when they arrived at Queen Consolidated. Even with the cure, even with the League of Assassins, their task was Sisyphean. Unless they cured Slade, for every soldier they'd put down, another would eventually rise up and Slade had thwarted them at nearly every turn. Oliver's conference room epiphany had been the first glimmer of hope that they might actually be a way to end this Starling City mostly intact and their team still alive Felicity had dared to feel since the attacks had begun. That tiny glimmer had grown, fed on Oliver's newly purposeful movements as he steered them confidently though the city, until, by the time she got off that bike in front of his home, she didn't even question what they were doing there. All she cared about was how she could help.

When he'd told her to stay in the mansion because he needed her safe, that hope had rushed out of her in a whoosh, leaving her wrong-footed and off balance for the first time in an evening that had been an unrelenting push of fear, pain, chaos, fighting, and running Isabell Rochev over with a van. Felicity was well accustomed to Oliver's occasional attacks of martyrdom, but she'd know immediately this was something else. She'd been by his side and in the thick of it since this had begun after all, her presence at his left hand assured. He hadn't needed her to be safe when he'd told Laurel to stay at the base. He hadn't asked her to walk away after Slade escaped again, or after they found the STAR lab courier, or in the clock tower when their failure - and worse - had seemed all but certain. So him asking her then, when they had the cure, and a yet-unexplained plan, when the tide might _finally_ be turning, defied all reason.

She'd demanded an explanation immediately, mind firing into overdrive as she tried to compile every possible reason for this sudden insanity and all corresponding counterarguments. Either she was going to disabuse him of whatever misguided sense of duty or guilt was getting in the way of them finishing this within the next two minutes, or she was getting back on that terrifying motorcycle and simply refusing to get off until he took her with him.

She thought she'd covered every possible reason or excuse Oliver could conceivably come up with in that beat of silence between when she demanded he tell her why and when he answered. But if she'd had ten years to think on it, she would have never anticipated that Oliver would look her straight in the eye and tell her Slade had taken the wrong woman. So when he did, her mind had thrown a gear, thoughts suddenly stuttering. He didn't love Laurel? What did that mean? Did he love Sara then? Surely he couldn't…. He must have read the bafflement on her face, because his expression had shifted. He'd looked at her as though he'd taken off his hood and her stomach had dropped. Then Oliver Queen told her that he loved her And her mind had gone completely blank.

Felicity was supremely grateful that she'd frozen in that moment under Oliver's naked, searching gaze. Because, she finally admitted in the darkness bedroom, she hadn't _almost_ believed him, like she told Digg and kept trying to tell herself. In that split second, she had _completely_ believed him. God knows what she would have said had her brain actually been working.

There lay the crux of the issue, she admitted, burying her face further in her pillow. She'd believed him not because Oliver was a particularly good actor, or even because she'd been so shocked, she'd just taken it at face value. She'd believed him because what his words reflected her own feelings and in that moment, with the world burning all around them, it seemed only natural and logical that he'd feel the same way. The truth of the feelings she'd been denying and dismissing for months as a "crush" - a physical attraction based on a heady combination of adrenaline, secrecy and, shirtless workouts - was suddenly and brutally exposed. Only to have their foolish futility revealed seconds later. That was what was behind the persistent ache behind her breastbone and the burn in the back of her throat.

The press of the syringe into her palm a few seconds later had been such a shock, she had flinched. But it had jolted her mind back into gear, the mysterious plan and his odd behavior and what he was _really_ trying to tell her all snapping into focus. Of course Oliver didn't love her, but if they could make Slade believe he did, they would finally be able to get close enough to cure him. He _did_ need her to stay there; the entire city did. So she screwed up her courage, curled her fingers around that syringe so tightly her palm still bore an indentation from the flange, and said yes to everything he was really asking when he whispered, "Do you understand?"

She knew Oliver cared for her, deeply. He'd been showing her for months through a hundred little gestures that he valued her as a partner and a friend. And if she'd had any lingering doubts, he'd proven it unequivocally when he'd palmed her that syringe. The only thing more difficult for Oliver Queen that trusting people, after all, was asking for help. Even now, that brought some small consolation. But she'd also known from the first, or at least from the first time she met Laurel, there could never be…more… She thought she'd accepted that fact and done what she needed to squelch the tender feelings that tended to cropped up with the tenacity of dandelions whenever she spent time with him. Pinning for someone who had made it clear he didn't feel the same way was unfair and more than a little creepy, after all. But that moment had shown her that her best efforts hadn't been enough; she had failed both of them.

Oliver must have known it too, she realized, a sudden rush of mortification scalding her. He'd all but acknowledged her feelings in his post-Russia, "It's not you, it's me," speech. He'd probably even counted on her being half in love with him still, months after his attempt at letting her down easy. If not, wouldn't he have told her what he planned lest she laugh or not believe at his "confession" and blow the whole scene?

Felicity embraced the righteous indignation welling up as she considered his actions again. The ever logical part of her brain, bolstered by the respect and friendship she felt for Oliver, offered the counterpoint that it probably hadn't been a conscious manipulation. He hadn't had a lot of options for plans or time in which to warn her; to say nothing of the fact that, for people who had secret identities, they were _terrible_ liars. But Felicity decided she was under no obligation to be fair or logical or to give Oliver the benefit of the doubt in her own bed at 3 am, especially when the heat of her anger so effectively masked the pain in her chest. He could have warned her somehow, he could have skipped the whole, "I love you," bit. When he left, he could have just gone, instead of hesitating that minute more with eyes full of something that had almost resembled regret; as though it was _his_ heart that was breaking. Instead, he exploited her feelings to lend a little extra veracity to his story, to really sell it to Slade.

Well, Felicity decided, no more. She pulled her face from the pillow and gathered her anger around herself, hardening it into a steely resolve. She was going to move on. For a fleeting second, she considered leaving the team altogether, but dismissed it almost immediately. Despite all of this – her foolishness and his betrayal - she believed in him and his mission and she wanted the opportunity to help keep the city safe. She'd done too much good and seen too much evil to walk away, especially now that Starling needed the Arrow more than ever. But pinning for Oliver, giving him this kind of power over her, was not just a fool's errand, it was dangerous and it had to stop. Tomorrow when they begin rebuilding everything: the base, the team, the city, Queen Consolidated; Felicity decided, she would start rebuilding their relationship as well. This time she'd keep it strictly professional: no more lingering in the lair to keep an eye on him and offer what comfort she could after a tough day; no more cataloging his complements; no more being his girl Wednesday; and definitely no more watching him workout. She'd do the IT, run the missions, and that would be it. And she would stop putting her life on hold, she promised herself; make time to reconnect with her old friends and maybe even reactive her OKCupid profile. She'd help save the city twice in as many years after all – didn't that entitle her to at least an occasional date? Once she stopped blurring the lines of their partnership and expanded her world beyond QC and the Arrow cave, surely her silly feelings would fade away, she told herself firmly. In a few weeks, she'd probably think of Oliver like she did Diggle – as a very muscley friend and partner – and nothing more. A plan and a new resolution provided Felicity with a welcome, though fragile, sense of equanimity. She didn't necessarily feel better, but it was enough to finally allow her to drift off to sleep.

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><p>AN: Even though I swear on the Salmon Ladder that I go over these chapters multiple times before I post them, stupid, stupid errors still inevitably get though. So I've taken advantage of the fact that this is and spent some time cleaning up the previous chapters - I haven't made any major changes, no need to go back, just fixed some typos and tightened the language in a few places.

Also, if the Arrow writing staff want me to believe Ray Palmer as a viable romantic partner for Felicity, they need to dial down the creepy stalker about 90%. This show. This F$%king show.


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